


Viva La Vida

by fiddleyoumust



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loosely based QAF US AU. Harry and Nick meet the night before Harry goes to X Factor bootcamp. It's supposed to be a simple hookup, but maybe it's something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viva La Vida

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junkshopdisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/gifts).



> Warning: Harry is sixteen and Nick is twenty-five in this story. Harry is of the age of consent in his country, but if age disparity bothers you turn back now. 
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely cheerleaders and betas. You know who you are. <3

London’s gay scene, it turns out, smells like piss, which is likely due to the rough sleepers Harry passed on his way up the street. Depictions of queer lives on the telly have clearly given him exaggerated expectations because this is… not how he imagined it. The only thing to indicate the dull brown building in front of him is even a club is the vibration of bass leaking through the walls and out onto the street, the discreet rainbow sticker in the corner of one of the blacked-out windows, and the small crowd of smokers in glitter and tight pants gathered near the backdoor in the alley. 

There isn’t even a sign. Embarrassment floods through Harry as he realizes he expected noise and laughing queens strutting around in a six-inch leather boot and feather boas round their necks, rainbow flags displayed proudly on every building and brightly colored T-shirts proclaiming “I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is.” Gay life, it seems, is not at all like the Pride parade Gemma took him to last year in Manchester -- at least not on a Monday night. 

Nausea roils in Harry’s stomach, making him unsteady on his feet. He feels seasick, sweaty and poorly. He leans against a lamp post and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself down -- an act that would probably be more helpful if the street didn’t smell like piss and the bitter tang of tobacco from the people smoking in the alley. He wants to go back to his hotel, but Gemma had gone to a lot of trouble to cover for him with his mum and stepdad, and he’s been wanting this for months. He can’t back out now.

A noisy group comes spilling out of the club and into the alley, a few of them already clutching lit cigarettes between their fingers. Harry looks up to watch them, half wishing he’d asked Gemma to come with him even if it is mortifying to think about pulling at a club with his sister as his wingman. 

One of the group, a tall man with a big face and wild hair, laughs loudly at something one of the others has said. He grabs on to a woman with bright orange hair and tucks his chin over the top of her head. Harry knows he’s staring; it’s impossible to hide when the man’s gaze flicks up to him and their eyes lock. Harry’s heart stutters and accelerates like a transmission with a slippery clutch.

The man’s not hot, not really. He’s too skinny and too tall -- a beanpole or a scarecrow in skinny jeans and red converse sneakers. All of his features are strange but oddly handsome, and familiar somehow. Harry’s mouth waters. He suddenly wants this man so badly he feels it in his toes.

“Hiya,” the man calls.

Harry looks over his shoulder, blushing when the man laughs, and suddenly realizes the man is talking to him.

The orange-haired lady rolls her eyes and says, “Really, Grim?” in what is clearly an American accent. “He’s barely out of diapers.”

“You said that about me once,” says another woman in the group. She looks like Snow White -- if Snow White wore leather bustiers, heavy-metal eyeliner, and false lashes.

“She still says it about you, Daisy,” says the one called Grim before he turns his attention back to Harry. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Harry likes the way he says “sweetheart,” likes the way his tongue skips over the “r” sound and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Harry pushes off the lamp post at his back and closes the distance between them.

“I’m Harry,” he says and holds out his hand in introduction. 

The guy laughs again as he takes Harry’s hand. “This is all very proper,” he says, but he sounds intimate, conspiratorial, like he’s bringing Harry in on the joke instead of laughing at him. 

“I’m Nick, but everyone calls me Grimmy,” he adds. “This here is Aimee and Daisy.” He nods toward the two women. “Where are you headed tonight, Harry?”

Flirting usually comes easy to Harry. He knows how to use his looks to his advantage and he’s never been afraid to say whatever’s on his mind. Adults always think he’s being cheeky and he usually manages to come off charming instead of bratty. 

“Wherever you’re going,” Harry says just as boldly, his cheeks flushing despite his best efforts to sound confident about the whole thing.

The orange-haired lady cackles and Snow White says, “Oh, Grimmy. Good luck with this one.”

The man, Nick, just smiles and wraps his fingers loosely around Harry’s wrist, his thumb sliding across Harry’s pulse point. His eyes never leave Harry’s eyes as he says, “I’m going to get a kebab and then I’m going home. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

Harry could do without the kebab, but the other thing is exactly what he came here for. 

“I could go for a kebab,” Harry says, heart thumping.

“The word kebab must mean something different here,” says the American whose name Harry’s already forgotten. 

Snow White laughs and smacks a kiss on Nick’s cheek. “Go on, then. Me and Aims will get ourselves a taxi.”

Nick says his goodbyes and Harry follows him down the street until he stops next to a Mercedes parked about half a block down.

~~~~~

“This is me,” Nick says.

The car’s nice and clean inside, Harry notes as he slides into the passenger seat. “Sick,” he says and immediately wishes he could take it back because he feels so young and stupid. But Nick doesn’t laugh. He puts the car in gear and drives a few blocks, turning the music up loud enough that neither of them will feel the need to talk through any awkward silences. Harry’s scared he’s going to mess this up, say something so stupid that Nick dumps him out on the kerb.

“We could skip the kebabs,” Harry blurts out, his fingers pressed so hard into his thighs that his knuckles hurt.

Nick glances at him, blinking once, and Harry is suddenly struck by how long his eyelashes are. He follows the movement of Nick’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. Everything feels slowed down and heavy as he waits for Nick’s answer. 

“Um, yeah. Okay. My flat’s in Primrose,” Nick says.. “I can give you the address if you need to text someone where you’re going.”

Harry let’s out a breath, more comforted than embarrassed when he realizes Nick is trying to put him at ease. He probably should let Gemma know he’s okay.

“Yeah um. My sister might worry. That’d be great.”

Nick rattles off his address and Harry texts Gemma _Going home with fit bloke. Here’s address if you need starting point for body search later_ before sending her the information Nick gave him.

_Ha Ha. Don’t joke. BE CAREFUL,_ Gemma replies immediately, followed by a bunch of heart emojis and a single aubergine. Harry smiles and thumbs off his phone. 

“Okay?” Nick asks, glancing over quickly.

“Yeah,” Harry answers. “All good.”

 

Nick’s flat is beautiful -- bright and full of color, and clean like his car -- but not overly fussy. The sofa looks comfy and there are shoes piled up by the front door. Nick tosses his keys onto a table in the entryway and throws his coat over the back of a chair in the lounge. 

“You can put your shoes under there,” Nick tells him, pointing to the table where he’d just put his keys. 

Harry toes them off, his heart in his throat. It’s just shoes, but he feels like he’s already taking his clothes off for Nick. He’s ready and not ready, his head a mess of _go, go, go_ with the occasional stop light thrown in when he allows himself to overthink what is really about to happen.

“Drink?” Nick asks.

Harry shivers once and shakes his head, crossing the room in a few steps to slide a hand over the back of Nick’s neck and yank him down for a kiss. He clearly surprises Nick, who lets out a small puff of breath and turns his head the same way Harry’s is angled his so their noses bump.

Nick pulls away huffing out a small laugh. He takes Harry’s hand and sits him down on the sofa, lowering himself to his knees on the floor in front of Harry’s knees. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Harry manages to say, even as his brain starts screaming _alert, alert, alert_ over the vision of Nick kneeling in front of him. 

“Ha, ha please. At least tell a believable lie,” Nick says, but he puts his warm palm on the top of Harry’s thigh. Harry takes that as a good sign. Clearly this is still on so long as Harry can distract him from the age thing.

“Eighteen?” Harry asks hopefully, distracted by Nick’s hand and its slow movement up Harry’s leg.

“No, love,” Nick says, but sweetly. “You wish.”

Someday Harry isn’t going to look like this. He’s going to fill out and his baby fat will go away and he’ll be grown up and handsome. He’s not bad now, he’s just _young_ , and nothing will fix that but time. He’s just so tired of waiting. He wants Nick to want him.

“I’m afraid if I say you’ll stop touching me,” Harry says honestly.

Nick slides his other hand up Harry’s leg and uses his palms to push Harry’s thighs apart. His sides brush against Harry’s inseam as he positions himself between Harry’s legs. Nick hasn’t even touched Harry yet, not really, just the hot weight of his hands and the friction of fabric against fabric, but it’s the closest Harry’s ever been to another man and it’s so erotic and intimate. 

“Look, could I potentially go to jail for this?” Nick asks softly, looking Harry in the eye.

There’s no way Harry could lie to him like this, even if he wanted to. “I’m old enough,” Harry says. “I promise, and I want this.”

The silence stretches between them like a taut rubber band. Nick gazes at him, apparently weighing the truthfulness of Harry’s answer. Harry’s afraid if he moves -- if he breathes too loudly -- something might snap and ruin whatever fragile hold he seems to have over Nick.

“Okay,” Nick says, shaking his head as if to clear it. “So what are you-- What do you like? What are you into?”

Harry isn’t expecting the switch in gears. His prick’s been hard since Nick crawled between his legs, and he thought he knew where this was going, but if Nick wants to, like, talk or whatever Harry’s okay with that -- for the moment.

“I dunno, stuff. Like singing and music and books I guess,” Harry says.

“Oh God,” Nick says, putting his face in his palms. “I meant in bed. But you’ve never -- this is probably your first time?” 

“Um,” Harry says, mortification making his whole body hot. He’s so embarrassed his blush has gone nuclear. “I’d like to die now.”

Nick bites his lips together and closes his eyes in what looks like a poor attempt to keep from laughing. It doesn’t work at all and he falls back on his heels, moving away from Harry as his booming laugh fills the room.

“Hey,” Harry whines. “Don’t make fun of me.”

That seems to get Nick’s attention because he moves back up to his knees between Harry’s legs and says, “Aw, no. I’m sorry. I think you’re adorable.”

Harry doesn’t want to be adorable. Everything is frustrating and terrible and he _hates_ being sixteen. Everything he wants seems just out of reach and he’s just so tired of waiting and waiting and waiting.

“I don’t want to be cute,” Harry says, petulant even though he tries hard not to sound it. 

“Well, soz,” Nick says. “You are, but I happen to like cute.”

Nick finally leans in and kisses him, using his big hands to move Harry’s head to the right angle this time. Harry’s kissed loads of girls but only one boy -- at a house party last year. It was weird, unsatisfying because the boy was stiff and scared and Harry felt a bit like neither of them was ready for it. He’d felt an ugly aching want in his chest afterward and had ended up apologizing and running home to cry on Gemma’s shoulder. 

Kissing Nick isn’t like that at all, but it’s also not like kissing a girl. Nick’s got stubble and a big, warm mouth. He feels big all over, more take charge than any girl Harry’s ever been with. He angles Harry’s head and plunders Harry’s mouth with deep, wet kisses that make Harry shiver all over. 

Harry lets him. He wants Nick to take charge because his hands are shaking and he doesn’t know what to do with them anyway. He’s full of want, but there’s fear there too, trying to get in the way of finally getting what he wants from Nick and he can’t let it. Harry wants Nick to take him to bed, to strip him out of his T-shirt and his stupid khaki pants, to hold him down and fuck him so Harry can stop being afraid and just enjoy it. 

“Can we--” Harry gasps against Nick’s mouth.

“Tell me what you want,” Nick says again, his meaning clear this time as his fingers skate under Harry’s shirt and drag over Harry’s stomach, making his muscles jump and his skin break out in gooseflesh. 

“Do you have a bed?” Harry asks, still trying to catch his breath.

Nick pushes himself up off the floor and offers Harry a hand up. Harry takes it, and once he’s on his feet again, allows himself to collide with Nick chest to chest. Now that they’ve kissed once, Harry feels more confident, sliding his hand over the back of Nick’s neck and pulling him down for another one.

It goes better. Their noses manage to avoid collision this time, and Harry shuffles their bodies around enough to start walking backwards in what he hopes is the direction of Nick’s bedroom. Luckily, Nick takes the hint and wraps an arm around Harry’s back to keep them close while he maneuvers them down the short hallway. 

Harry’s hands roam over Nick’s back while his brain goes wild with images of what’s about to happen. He pictures Nick’s naked chest, his skinny arms and legs and his cock all tangled up with Harry’s body -- the bite of nails and teeth on flesh and the heady rush of orgasm. Harry wants it all; he wants Nick to consume him.

Harry’s back hits the door jamb at the entrance to Nick’s room and Nick pushes him harder against it, sliding his mouth from Harry’s lips to his chin and his throat, sucking at the skin right below Harry’s jaw. It’s the single most erotic thing that’s ever happened to Harry and his prick is so hard he thinks he might cry.

“Fuck me,” Harry pleads, closing his eyes as Nick groans against his neck.

Thankfully, Nick seems inclined to give Harry what he’s asking for. His fingers slide over the button and zip of Harry’s trousers, and Harry steps out of them when they pool around his feet. His shirt is next to go, catching around Harry’s shoulders and his head when Nick shoves him back against the jamb, pinning his wrists above his head and placing his hot palm over Harry’s prick.

“Well that’s a nice surprise,” Nick says, his voice heavy with lust, and Harry smiles so hard he’s sure Nick sees it through the shirt currently covering his face.

Nick’s hand feels so nice but it’s not enough, just a tease of a touch, so Harry grinds against Nick’s hand and moans, his eyes rolling back into his head when Nick bites his lip through Harry’s shirt.

“I’d like to be able to see now,” Harry says, and Nick immediately steps back and helps him untangle himself from his shirt.

“Pants,” Nick says, and he hooks his thumbs into the elastic at Harry’s hips and pulls them over the round curve of Harry’s arse, breath catching when Harry’s cock comes fully into view.

Nudity has never bothered Harry. He’s always found being starkers kind of hilarious, partly because it seems to make everyone else so uncomfortable, but Nick doesn’t look uncomfortable. He looks reverent. For once in his life, Harry feels the overwhelming need to cover up.

“Can I get on the bed?” Harry asks. He hopes having the mattress under him will help anchor him, help him dull the sharp edge of his nervousness.

“By all means,” Nick says.

Harry dives for the bed, flopping onto his back and forcing himself to lie spread out even though he wants to curl up and hide.

Nick watches him from the doorway, eyes feasting, and Harry was right, having the bed under him is better. It’s easier to let Nick look at him, but he’s ready to have Nick near him again -- on him, in him, whatever. Nick hasn’t even taken any of his clothes off.

“You’re still dressed,” Harry says. “I want to see you.” He also wants to touch and taste and feel Nick, but he’ll settle for mutual nakedness for now.

You’re distracting,” Nick says. 

It sounds like a line, and maybe it is, but it makes Harry feel good anyway. He likes believing that Nick desires him.

Nick finally leaves his post at the door and comes to the edge of the bed, running one long finger delicately up the bottom of Harry’s foot. Harry’s usually ticklish there, but he’s so turned on that the touch barely registers in his fevered brain.

“Nick,” he pleads, and Nick finally takes pity on him, shedding all of his clothes at the foot of the bed except his pants. Harry gets no more than a glance before Nick puts a knee between Harry’s ankles, pushing his legs further apart to make room for himself. His hands take inventory of Harry’s body as Nick moves up the bed, fingers sliding warmly over Harry’s instep, his calves, the tender spots behind his knee and up through the sparse hair on his thighs.

It’s almost like when they were in the lounge on the sofa, only it’s a zillion times hotter and more intimate with Nick looming over him. His hands are warm on Harry’s skin. Harry wants to kiss him again, but Nick is still so far away and his hand is still moving up, up, up. He’s going to touch Harry’s cock any moment now. Harry’s sure of it.

He pushes his hips off the bed, trying to give Nick a helpful clue as to where he ought to put his hands next. Harry wants to feel Nick, to pull Nick down on top of him and wrap his legs around Nick’s hips and grind his way to orgasm. He wants Nick to blow him and fuck him and--

“Take your pants off,” Harry demands.

He’s done playing around.

“Are you in a rush?” Nick asks, rubbing his thumbs over the sharp points of Harry’s hip bones. 

“Yes,” Harry says,. Then, “No, but _yes_.”

If Nick keeps laughing at Harry, Harry is going to start getting cranky -- not in a way that would make him want to leave or anything. He’d probably forget about it if Nick would just _do something_.

“Turn over, love,” Nick says. “Help me give you what you want.”

Harry has no idea how to do that with Nick camping between his spread thighs, but Nick seems to understand because he moves and twists until Harry finds himself face-first in Nick’s pillows, the sweet scent of Nick’s shampoo filling his head, his heart racing with how easily Nick managed to get him on his stomach.

Suddenly it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t seen Nick’s cock because he knows he’s going to get to feel it. He’s finally going to know what it feels like to be fucked. His dick twitches against the sheets, his whole body contracting with want.

But when Nick touches him again, it isn’t his hand on Harry’s arse like Harry was expecting. Nick touches his shoulder instead, just the tip of his finger dusting over the freckles Harry knows are there. Then Nick’s mouth follows, hot and open, trailing the tip of his tongue over the same path his fingers are taking.

There’s no holding back his reaction to it. Harry bites down on the pillow, but even that isn’t enough to muffle his groan. He shivers as Nick continues down his back, over the bumps of his spine, first fingertips followed by tongue until Harry feels Nick’s breath over the dimples at the top of his arse. 

Harry feels so warm and soft, like he’s floating in one of those big soaker tubs. He’s so peaceful he’s started drifting, but then Nick spreads him open and before Harry quite wraps his mind around what Nick’s going to do, Nick licks a hot stripe up to the top of Harry’s arse and then he’s _there_. Inside. 

The noises Harry makes when he does it are mortifying. He sounds like a broken lawn mower turning over but never catching as Nick spreads him wider and pushes his tongue even deeper into Harry’s arse. Harry spares a grateful thought to his past self for showering before he went out tonight, but his past self had never even imagined _this_ possibility. It feels so good Harry can only bite the pillow and push his arse back for more of Nick’s tongue. 

He’s full on humping the bed at this point, forcing Nick to hold on to him and dig those long fingers into the flesh of Harry’s arse as he elbows Harry’s thighs further apart. This is nothing like Harry’s timid self explorations. He’s done a few fingers with some lube he stole out of Gemma’s beside table after she’d left for university, and God -- the last thing he wants to think about while he’s got someone’s tongue in this arse is his sister.

It feels so good Harry can’t stay still. Even with Nick holding him down, he bucks and writhes between the mattress and Nick’s mouth, still making those stupid noises. His throat is raw from trying and failing miserably to hold them inside. He thinks he might die from how amazing it feels, but the more likely outcome is that he’ll come from this before Nick fucks him. Even though he doesn’t want Nick to stop, he’d really rather die than come before he gets what he came here for.

“Stop,” Harry moans, and Nick does stop, squeezing his arse once before scooting back.

“Is there a problem?” Nick asks, and he sounds so smug that Harry wants to kick him.

Harry supposes he deserves to sound smug, though, because Harry can’t even formulate an answer. He’s tongue-twisted and fuzzy headed so he simply pushes himself up onto all fours and thrusts his arse out, hoping Nick doesn’t need anymore encouragement than that.

Nick kisses the swell of Harry’s arse and _finally_ gets off the bed to remove his pants. Harry turns his head to watch while Nick rummages through his bedside drawer for a condom and a bottle of lubricant, looking between the supplies Nick sets on the bed and the way Nick’s cock bounces as he moves.

There’s a moment where Harry rethinks the whole fucking thing because he would very much like to try putting his mouth on Nick’s prick, sucking Nick until he comes messily across his tongue, but Harry’s never done that before either and he thinks it might take some skill to be good at it. He wants to be good for Nick and wants Nick to be good for him, and if the preview Nick gave him is any indication, Nick knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it good for both of them. Maybe later, if there’s still time, Harry can ask about going down on him.

The bed dips, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. Nick runs his hand down Harry’s flank and Harry’s skin prickles, electrified in the wake of Nick’s touch. He wants it to go on forever almost as much as he wants Nick to hurry up.

“Hurry,” he says, his own needs beating out his desire for Nick to linger. He’s mindless now, his internal voice nothing more than a litany of _hurry, hurry, now, now, now_. 

“Shh, I’m working here” Nick says, followed by the snap of the lube bottle being opened, and then Harry can’t think past the weird sensation of Nick’s long finger rubbing over his rim and sliding in slowly -- incrementally -- until he stops and Harry thinks he must be all the way in.

Having Nick’s finger in him is strange. Harry’s strung out, his body and mind caught in the push and pull of wanting more and wanting to stop completely. Harry doesn’t know what to do so he pushes his hot face against the pillow and holds his breath.

Nick soothes Harry with his free hand, rubbing circles over his lower back as he talks nonsense to Harry -- small words of encouragement mixed with assurances that they can stop at any time, all Harry has to do is say.

Harry lifts his head and says, “I don’t want to stop,” because that seems important somehow, like maybe Nick needs some encouragement, too. “It’s just -- I don’t know how I’m going to feel with your cock in there.

“Full,” Nick says honestly. “And probably weird at first, too, but then it gets good. It’s like -- exercise a bit. Like, when you first start running and everything is kind of awful and you want to just quit and go get some crisps and a beer and sit on the sofa watching Bake Off.” 

Nick adds another finger while he’s talking and it hurts a little but Harry’s lulled by the sound of Nick’s voice. “But then it’s alright after a while. You can breathe again and your heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode, and when you’re done you have all this energy and you feel like you can do anything.”

One of Nick’s knuckles moves inside Harry and he sees pinpricks of light behind his closed eyes. His breath catches and he grunts in a really unsexy way. Nick does it again and Harry’s entire body clenches around Nick’s fingers.

It goes on like that, Nick opening him up and hitting that spot over and over until Harry’s practically panting. When he pulls his fingers free, Harry actually whimpers. His dick is hard and dripping onto the sheets, making Harry so mindless he’s considering just dropping down and rubbing off against the mattress until he comes.

“Don’t you dare,” Nick says as if he can read Harry’s mind. He places his hand on Harry’s hip and steadies him, keeping him upright. “I’m just going to make quick work of this condom and I’ll be right back. You can wait.”

So Harry waits, face in the pillow and arse in the air until Nick returns and pushes slowly inside. The breath burns in his lungs from the foreignness of it all. Nick rubs his back and says, “Breathe, love you have to breathe,” so Harry does and Nick waits.

The breathing really does help. Eventually Harry relaxes, stops clenching down so hard, and Nick starts to move, slowly at first and then more when Harry makes encouraging sounds. It’s all strange, the noises they’re making -- the sound of skin slapping against skin, Nick’s labored breathing, the feeling of Nick fucking into him and pulling out again. Harry’s not sure he likes it until Nick finds that spot from before and then...yeah.

“Oh, God,” Harry moans and Nick says, “Good, that’s good,” before he reaches around and takes Harry’s cock in his hand, wanking him in time with his thrusts into Harry’s arse.

Harry comes first, already so fucking close from everything that’s happened since he got into Nick’s car however long ago. His arse clamps down on Nick’s cock and his orgasm is a billion times better than anything he’s ever experienced before. It’s like having Nick’s cock in him gives him something to hold on to, dragging out his pleasure, making it ripple through him like the surface of a lake.

He collapses on the bed, spent and boneless. He vaguely notices Nick pulling out and wrapping his come covered hand around his own prick, wanking over Harry’s prone body until Harry hears him cry out.

“Could’ve finished,” Harry mumbles, eyes already heavy. “Wanted it to be good for you too.” 

Nick collapses next to him, laying small kisses on Harry’s shoulders. “That was amazing,” he says. “You’re amazing.”

Harry wants to say he’s amazing too, but he can’t keep his eyes open a second longer. He falls asleep just like that, smiling and satisfied, with Nick kissing his shoulder.

~~~~~

Harry’s eyes flutter open when he hears the click of a lighter.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Nick says, waving his cigarette from his spot by the bedroom window. 

Cool air floats through the open window and into the bedroom, bringing the pungent smell of Nick’s cigarette with it. Nick’s in nothing but a pair of black pants and his necklace, which is nestled in the hair on his chest. He looks satisfied. Harry feels a spike of pride deep in his chest that he’s the cause of it -- he made Nick look like that.

“I don’t mind,” Harry says, smiling a bit shyly because he doesn’t know what’s supposed to come next and he doesn’t quite know how to ask.

“Did you want one?” Nick asks, holding the pack out to Harry.

Harry is firmly anti smoking because it’s bad for you and it makes you smell gross, but so does McDonalds and he still eats that sometimes because as terrible as it is, it is also great. Harry’s curious, at any rate, and tonight seems to be a night for first times. He hopes the cigarette isn’t nearly as great as the sex, though; he really doesn’t want to take up smoking. 

“Never had one, but I’ll give it a go,” Harry says, sliding out of bed and walking to Nick, naked and comfortable with it.

Nick watches him, his eyes roaming over Harry’s body. Harry likes it, his skin warming under Nick’s appreciative gaze. 

“Not an ounce of shame in you, is there?” Nick asks as he puts the cigarette between Harry’s lips.

Harry tries to make a show of it, his lips sliding against the tips of Nick’s fingers while he holds Nick’s gaze, never breaking eye contact.

“Dear God,” Nick says, laughing and shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “You’re a cheeky little thing.”

“Not so little,” Harry says, taking the cigarette between his fingers and glancing down at his cock. It’s so easy to flirt now that he’s past all his nervousness. He’s always been an excellent flirt. If flirting had been part of his GCSEs, he would have received top marks without a bit of studying. 

There’s a moment where Harry watches Nick’s affectionate eyeroll, the way his fingers look clutched around the cigarette lighter, the way he smiles, lopsided and sweet, and Harry imagines them here together ten years from now -- both of them older, Nick with some grey at his temples, and Nick is looking at Harry like that because he loves him and they’ve built some kind of life together.

The image hits him like a blow, shocking and painful, because while he’s known for a long time that he’s wanted to fuck boys as much as he’s ever wanted to fuck girls, he’s never imagined this. In his mind, it’s always been about sex and sweat and not much else. But when he looks at Nick, he sees something else and it’s scary.

He always figured he’d marry a girl, have a couple of babies and a nice little family to take home to his mum’s every Christmas. The possibility of something else -- of someone else -- had never presented itself before.

Nick must see something because he tilts his chin at Harry and asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, because how can he tell Nick what he’s thinking? They’ve just met. They don’t know anything about each other. “You gonna light this for me, or...”

The flame on the lighter dances to life. Nick cups his hand around Harry’s to keep the wind away from the fire and touches the lighter to the end of Harry’s fag.

“Suck.”

Harry sucks, inhales, and immediately coughs hard and wet, his eyes watering.

“Maybe not,” Harry croaks, handing the offending thing to Nick while his throat burns. “Why does anyone do that?”

“‘S like sex,” Nick says. “Takes practice sometimes. You can’t be a natural at everything, love.”

“Are you saying I’m good at sex?” Harry asks, even though he thinks that’s exactly what Nick meant.

“I’m not feeding your ego,” Nick says, smiling as he flicks his burned down cigarette out the window and starts in on Harry’s.

Harry stares out the window at the horizon which is slowly changing color from inky black to purple, indicating the coming morning and the end to whatever tenuous attachment Harry feels toward Nick.

“I should probably go soon,” Harry says, his voice reluctant and regretful.

“Where to?” Nick asks casually, flicking Harry’s cigarette out the window too. He stretches his arms over his head before turning from the window and making his way across the room to pick his shirt and jeans up off the floor.

Harry aches as he watches Nick put his clothes back on. He doesn’t want this to be over, but there is no alternative outcome. Harry is sixteen and Nick’s grown and has a nice flat and a nice car. Harry’s just a kid from Holmes Chapel. All of that might change soon enough, but right now a posh life in London is nothing more than a dream for him.

“I’m in a hotel near Wembley,” Harry says.

Nick tilts his head, nods once, and says, “C’mon. I’ll drive you back. We can stop and get a McMuffin on the way.”

Harry sighs and goes to put his clothes on.

~~~~~

He gets two McMuffins and a hashbrown because Nick tells him to get whatever he wants and Harry is a firm believer in taking people at their word. 

“Why is it so good?” Harry asks around a mouthful of egg and sausage.

Nick sips his black coffee and fiddles with the volume on the radio as Dev off early breakfast announces a new tune by Olly Murs. 

“Quite like this,” Nick says, picking his phone up and tapping out a quick text. “Wonder what happened to the one who actually won.”

“Joe McElderry,” Harry says automatically. “But yeah, he was well fit, too.”

“I like a boy who knows his X Factor trivia,” Nick says.

Harry wants to spill his guts, tell Nick why he’s actually in London, but he’s not supposed to talk about it and he’s not about to lose his shot at his dream just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He looks out the window instead and listens to the end of Olly Murs’ new song.

Dev comes back on at the end of the track and says, “Shout out to Grimmy who’s up early and on the text this morning. He reckons Olly’s new tune is well good.”

Harry whips his head around, his heart thumping double time as realization floods through him.

“You’re Nick Grimshaw,” he says. “I’m so stupid. I, like, listen to your show all the time.”

It seems impossible that Harry didn’t know it right from Nick’s first hello outside the club. His voice is singular and unforgettable. 

“Hiya,” Nick says, smiling sheepishly.

“I slept with Nick Grimshaw,” Harry says, then immediately feels both proud and embarrassed.

“Oh my God,” Nick says, laughing. “I’ve turned you into one of them celebrity fuckers. Next you’ll be on to Moyles or summat.”

Harry makes a gagging noise and shakes his head. “That’s no… Scott Mills maybe, though?”

“Oh no,” Nick says, still laughing. His eyes are watering now. “This is incredible.”

They’re both still giggling in silly stops and starts when Nick pulls up in front of Harry’s hotel.

“This is me,” Harry says, looking up to the third storey windows where his parents are hopefully still asleep and clueless about Harry’s absence.

Nick puts the car in neutral and pulls on the brake before he reaches out and tugs Harry over to him. Harry sighs against Nick’s mouth and lets himself be kissed, softer and sweeter than he was expecting.

When they break apart, Nick says, “Have a good day, love.”

Harry can’t think of anything to say back so he nods and gets out of the car.

The doorman greets him on his way in and Harry stops, watching through the glass as Nick puts his car in gear and drives away.

~~~~~

Gemma’s awake when Harry slips into their room, her head pillowed on her arm and her eyes blinking owlishly at Harry in the dim light.

“Well?” she asks, sitting up.

Harry flops onto the bed next to her, smiling into her shoulder as he says, “So, I kind of had sex with Nick Grimshaw off Radio 1 last night.”

“What?” Gemma squawks. “Tell me everything immediately.”

Harry tells her everything except the bit with the cigarette because Gemma’s okay with him having sex with men, but he knows she’ll be well miffed if she finds out he’s been smoking.

“He’s well fit, Harry. I’m weirdly proud of you right now,” Gemma says when he’s done talking. 

“I should have asked for his number,” Harry says. “I mean, I don’t know. I think he liked me.”

Gemma looks at him sort of sadly and says, “Babes, I read all those celebrity gossip pages and he’s always in ‘em. I think he’s a bit of slag if I’m honest.”

Harry doesn’t care about that. He figures if he was famous and had a cool job and ran around in clubs with fit model types he’d be a bit of a slag too. It doesn’t mean Nick doesn’t genuinely like him.

“I don’t care,” Harry says stubbornly. “When I win X Factor I’m going to look him up and see if he remembers me.”

Tomorrow he goes to bootcamp and he knows it’s a long shot. He knows there will be tons of people there competing for the same spots, people who maybe sing better or have that certain something the judges are looking for that Harry doesn’t have. But maybe, just maybe, he’ll be what they’re looking for and everything he’s ever wanted will finally be within his reach.

“Let’s get you through bootcamp first,” Gemma says, fond and sweet.

“I’m going to do it, Gem. You’ll see.”

Gemma gets up from the bed and says, “Okay, pop star. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

_**THREE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER** _

Harry comes off stage, sweaty and exhilarated.

“That was sick,” Niall says, grabbing Harry around the waist and lifting him up as much as he can.

“Absolutely incredible,” Louis says, smiling and manic. They’re going to have to find something to do to blow off steam or Louis is going to be impossible tonight.

Harry makes his way back toward hair and makeup, Zayn right behind him, and the five of them sit impatiently as their makeup is removed. Harry reaches for his phone where he left it before they went out on stage, thumbing it open and scrolling through his twitter feed to see what people have said so far.

He stops short, his breath catching when he scrolls across Nick’s tweet.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=30u3d3s)

“What are you smiling about, mate?” Liam asks, glancing curiously at Harry’s phone.

“I’m just happy,” Harry says, thumbing his phone off before Liam can get a good look at what he’s reading. “Like, I think we’re going to make it, lads. I think we’re going to get every single thing we’ve ever wanted.”


End file.
